I've been thinking about writing this blog for a long time now. It’s been gut-wrenching to write and, at first, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to put this out there and share it. I know some people will think it’s the wrong decision. I’m still not sure about it myself and I’m very nervous about its reception (so please be kind). Charles has encouraged me to tell my story – which is really his story told from my perspective – about depression because it’s Movember and Movember is all about men’s health and depression issues.
I apologise in advance for the length and the tone. This story is about what happened to us and it’s not the happy little anecdotes about the kids, my appalling housekeeping skills or why I think 90% of the population should be forbidden from breeding. It’s not my usual style and you would be forgiven for passing it over in favour of more light-hearted posts. But it is the truth and I really hope the telling of it will encourage someone else in the bottom of the well to hold on for a day in the sun.
My father-in-law died from cancer almost two-and-a-half years ago now. At the time it was like having a foundation yanked out from under us. He was a young man - healthy, energetic, vital - and cancer took all of it away so quick that we were left gasping for breath. By the time he died I think we’d all known it was going to happen for some time – but still, none of us were in any way prepared for it.
In the days and weeks after Charles was brilliant. He helped arrange his father's funeral, smoothed over minor rifts that always happen when someone passes, held us all while we cried. I knew he'd hold it together for the sake of his family and that he would go to pieces further down the line. In an amazing feat of irony I even predicted it to his boss - telling her he wouldn't take much leave when his father died and predicting that he'd take it six months later when he really needed it. How prophetic those words were.
It was seven months after Norm died and things had been off with our relationship for awhile. Nothing I could say or do was right, arguments were fierce and frequent. I was beginning to get that sinking feeling in my stomach that tells you your relationship is in trouble. Worse, I was pregnant. We’d wanted the baby at the time but now I was worried about the kind of home I was bringing him into.
I can clearly remember the day when I realised it wasn't me - it was him. It was my brother's birthday and I'd asked Charles to put some money aside for a present. We were going to Jase and Lenka's house for a birthday dinner and Jase had told me he didn't want a gift but asked me if I could buy a cake from the Cheesecake Shop for dessert instead. Outside the Cheesecake Shop Charles lost his temper when I asked him to buy the cake.
He was furious that I hadn't told him exactly how much money to put aside for the birthday and made it clear that he'd budgeted for a gift, not a cake. Stunned by the venom, I said I'd pay for it myself –it was only $25, after all. But even that wasn't good enough and he continued to make an issue of it long after we bought the cake, berating me for most of the trip. By the time we got there I’d been crying for some time but inside I was quietly furious. It was a totally ridiculous argument.
That night as Jase and I went to pick up dinner I cried while I told him I thought my marriage was over and how I was planning to leave Charles. I was completely distraught because I had no idea what to do with a small girl who revolved around the two of us like a planet around the sun and a baby on the way. My brother held me, reassured me that Charles wasn't normally like this and gently suggested there was more to it. I was still convinced that it was me.
On the way home that night Charles started talking about leaving his job because he hated it. He’d always loved his job and he’d worked so hard to get where he was. Right then it all clicked into place and I knew it was nothing to do with me - he had depression.
Getting him to the doctor and onto medication was only the beginning. I was enormously relieved that it wasn’t our relationship that was the problem. Perversely, the doctor and his counsellor both explained that all of the anger he’d been channelling at me was proof of our strong relationship and his love for me. Apparently he felt safe using me as an emotional safety valve.
The relief of having him diagnosed was short-lived. For some time the official diagnosis seemed to give him permission to give up. Some days he wouldn't get out of bed. Often he would leave me to do the chores by myself insisting he had no energy to help. He would even get me to call or email his boss because he couldn't face telling her anything in person.
The positive thing about his depression was how he handled telling other people. Together Charles and I had been responsible for setting up the Movember campaign in the Defence agency we worked for. We'd designed a website complete with facts about men's health and thanks to that he knew that men with depression were more likely to kill themselves than women because men are ashamed to admit to having depression and they don't talk about it amongst themselves. So Charles decided he was going to be honest about it and talk freely about what was happening to him.
All of his friends and acquaintances reacted positively. A couple admitted to having depression themselves, some knew people with depression and some just wanted to know what it meant and how they should handle it.
At home he had good days and bad. Some days he was almost like his normal self again and that was all that kept me going. But mostly he was withdrawn and he would instinctively look to me to carry his load as well as my own. I felt alone, frustrated and angry. I hadn’t signed up to do everything by myself and I felt like I had three children – one a reluctant, argumentative teenager – instead of two. I wanted my husband back. I wanted him to be my friend again. The worst part was the distance the depression put between us. He was almost totally insular and introspective. I missed just talking to him. I missed knowing what was going on inside his head. I was desperately lonely and horribly afraid. I had no idea that it was going to get even worse.
Just as the depression seemed to be abating Charles decided that we should move house. By then James had arrived. I didn’t think the timing was great but I recognised that what he was after was a fresh start. There were just too many memories in that house. I wanted him to get better so badly that I agreed. I did all of the work to prepare the house for sale, did much of the work to physically move us and then put the house up for sale. Somewhere during all of this Charles decided that he felt so good that he’d stop taking his medication. I didn’t know about it until afterwards and when I warned him that he shouldn’t just stop like that he laughed at me, said he was fine and closed the conversation in a way that made it clear that he just wasn’t taking his meds anymore and the discussion was over.
A month or so later and things had been feeling off again between us. He’d resisted every attempt I’d made to discuss it. One night while I was sorting the washing on our bed he came in, sat down and brooded. I knew better than to ask him again what was wrong. He wouldn’t look at me but after awhile he said he needed to talk and that he thought he was in a lot of trouble. That tell-tale knot was back in my stomach but, again, I thought we were looking down the barrel of relationship trouble – I had no idea what was coming. So I asked him what was wrong and that was the first time he looked at me.
“I’m going to kill myself next Wednesday.”
I felt so cold inside and so sick. I could barely ask him to explain what he meant. As he talked it transpired that he had it all worked out. He was going to take the kids to daycare, call in sick to work, post letters to myself and his family, drive to where we’d scattered his father’s ashes and then kill himself. It was all planned and he thought it was a great idea but he wanted to check with me first in case his logic was off. I was so horrified I could barely speak. It is hands down the most bizarre thing I’ve ever lived through. He was literally trying to convince me what a fantastic idea suicide was because he had a stack of life insurance and the kids and I could therefore live a wonderful life in the lap of luxury without him.*
I spent a long time explaining why it was the dumbest idea ever and what a scumbag he would be if he let his kids grow up knowing their Dad had topped himself. I explained that as they grew up they would think it was their fault or that they weren’t a good enough reason for their Dad to go on living. This seemed to scare him out of the idea. Apparently he hadn’t thought about the downside from their perspective – as far as he could tell it would all be big houses, flash cars and trips to EuroDisney. I was careful to keep my panic shut away during this conversation. I did not want to scare him off talking about this stuff with me and I was scared that the instant I started screaming and crying I would never stop. We had been so close to normal again and now it was even worse than when we started.
I had no idea what to do but he was clear no one should be told and I was scared to go against his wishes. I was scared to do anything that might stop him from sharing his plans with me but I was even more scared of doing nothing. I was painfully aware that his life was in my hands and one wrong move could have a lifetime of regret, sorrow and consequences. So I confiscated his keys and wallet and made it clear that he was to give me six months on medication before he tried to do anything. He seemed relieved that the decision was out of his keeping and readily agreed to my terms.
The following day he insisted on going to work and so I drove him there and then drove straight to his doctor and had a complete meltdown. She freaked out almost as much as me and insisted on calling him right then and there. At first she wanted me to have him committed to the hospital until he was stable again but he talked her out of that and agreed to resume his medication immediately. He also agreed that I would have his keys and wallet for the next four weeks and that he would never be alone. That whole month is right up there as one of the most awful periods of my life. I threw up constantly, cried spontaneously and had horribly vivid nightmares. And I never told him about any of it because I didn’t want to add any more pressure or guilt.
Following “that” incident Charles has been religious about taking his medication and it’s only now that I really feel like he’s becoming himself again. Interestingly, he’s also told me that he feels normal for the first time in his life and I wonder whether depression has been the sleeping giant living inside him all his life.
Bizarrely, now that things have calmed down I feel myself falling apart. After two years on the depression treadmill I’m tired, angry and worn rice paper thin. I find myself snapping and losing my temper over ridiculous things. I get frustrated easily and I have no patience for Charles’ jokes about not doing housework. After two years of doing it all by myself there’s nothing funny in it for me.
For awhile there I thought my rage would overwhelm us. I feel angry that I worry about where he is if he doesn’t answer the phone at work. I feel hurt that some people have glossed over what’s happened to us. I’m furious that I’ve been left to hold my family together largely by myself.
The shining lights in my life have been the people who have really stepped in to help us out, the people who talk to Charles openly and make sure I’m okay. My mother-in-law and her husband have taken the kids just about every time we’ve asked, often on short notice. My brother and his wife frequently have us over for dinner and Jase always feeds Charles a beer and asks him how he’s really doing and, more importantly, listens to the answer. Kat von Z has paid for a plethora of commiseration lunches, listened while I rant and held my hand while I cry. My Aunt worked side-by-side with me to get our old house ready for sale and she still comes around to help with the gardening and housework. And my Dad often calls just to see how we’re doing.
I do finally feel like we’ve turned the corner. I feel like Charles gets better every day and for the first time I’m comfortable loosening my death grip. I’m starting to believe that it might all be okay even if I’m not white-knuckling it. It’s starting to feel like a marriage again – our relationship full again of those knowing smiles, gentle reassurances and unconscious touching that comes with knowing someone almost as well as you know yourself and loving them even more than that. There are heart-stopping moments of joy where we’re laughing at stupid things because really, we’re just happy to be with each other. They’re all moments I never thought would come again and which now tell me that it’s okay to think we’re going to be just fine. For the first time in two years I feel myself being cautiously happy and optimistic.
Men like Charles are few and I always felt that what we had was such a rare, happy coincidence that I would never find it again, no matter how many years I’m granted on this earth. I’ve held on grimly throughout, hoping that somehow he’d come back to me. The truth is that throughout the whole ordeal, in my heart of hearts, I really thought that one way or the other I was going to lose him. And it’s just so lovely to be wrong.
* Medication for depression should never be halted suddenly. The sudden absence of mood stabilisers can cause you to “crash” quite quickly and this is when suicidal thoughts and behaviours emerge. For this reason beginning the process of ceasing your medication should only ever take place with the advice and guidance of your doctor. For those who don’t have depression, it’s worth noting that clinical depression is the result of a chemical imbalance. People can’t simply “pull themselves together” or “build a bridge and get over it”. They physically don’t have the capacity to heal themselves. Medication is also not always the ultimate solution. While some people need medication for the rest of their lives others find that meds are a temporary crutch to help them walk again. Studies have shown that the effects of depression can diminish and even disappear over time with regular sleeping and eating patterns, exercise and a good diet.
You can support the move to educate and empower men about health and mental health issues by supporting the Movember campaign.
If you, or someone you love is suffering from depression, you're not alone and you can get help through your GP or through Beyond Blue.
